


Returning - Prologue

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Series, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-17
Updated: 2004-04-17
Packaged: 2018-11-11 02:10:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11139081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Post Call of the Wild, the search for the Hand of Franklin has come to an end. Threemonths later, there is a shooting outside of the Canadian Consulate, Chicago.





	Returning - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
Returning - Prologue

## Returning - Prologue

by Rathful Matt

Disclaimer: The Main Characters in this story are not mine, although some minor characters and   
the story itself are. I claim no copyright over the characters, only the story. This is a series   
that will contain homosexual themes and. uh .sex, so all standard warnings apply.   


Author's Notes: I'd like to thank all of those who have inspired me along the way, and beg   
forgiveness for those of you who I've borrowed ideas from. This hasn't been betad, so comments and   
critiques welcome. Just keep down the flames, please.   


Story Notes: Post CoTW, so spoilers for that and references to many past DS episodes   


* * *

He's gone. 

I know he is. I do. I stood at the window while the plane taxied off the runway at Yellowknife. I stood and watched until I could not see it any longer. I know where it's going. I know what it's doing. I know now that I must now go on with my life. But Ray is gone. 

_Well...I guess it's goodbye then._

_Yes Ray, I suppose it is._

_Write me, okay?_

_I will Ray._

_And if you ever get a phone or email you tell me, right?_

_I will._

_Know where you're posted yet?_

_I...haven't given it much thought. Inuvik maybe or Tuktoyaktuk, there's also an opening in Beaver Creek..._ my voice had tapered off at that point. I hadn't wanted to think about the future before, but here it was upon me now. A low whine at my feet made me look down at Diefenbaker. 

"Yes. He's gone." I said. 

Dief made a rumbling noise ending in an inquisitive grunt. 

"No. He won't be back soon." I said, feeling a strange tightening in my chest. "Come. We should get moving." 

* * *

That was three months ago. I was sitting at the small table in my cabin with a writing pad in front of me. _Dear Ray_. I got that far. I'd been stuck at that for the last few days. I can write; I write every day in my journal, but this is different. This is something that will be read by Ray. I don't know what to tell him. I don't know what I want to tell him. I don't know how much I may inadvertently tell him. Ray has a life. I remind myself sternly. He has a job, he has family and he has a place in Chicago. As for myself... 

* * *

He's home. Fraser, Frase, Nanook of the North, the most annoying man in the world has gone home. I should be happy for him, he's out of this shitpile of a city anyway. Sure I missed Kung-pao chicken and steamed snapper when I was up there in Freezerland but right now I'm missing clean air and fresh snow. He always wanted to go back to Canada. He almost did several times when I was being a jerk. But he didn't. He didn't take the transfer after the Henry Anderso... Allen. He should have, it was the logical career choice. But he didn't. I should be happy that he's there and he's happy now. I am happy that he's happy. But why then do I feel so miserable? 

I haven't heard anything since I boarded the plane in Yellowknife. No phone call, not even a goddamn letter. It's ridiculous really. He's probably stuck in some remote area with slow postal or something. Maybe he's been busy and hasn't had time to write. I mean it's not like writing to me should be number one on his `things to do' list. 

"Hey bro, you done with the Lester file?" 

"Hi Frannie. Yeah, here ya go." I'm back at the 27th. It's a good place, and with Vecchio now gone gone, there's been an opening for a permanent detective. Even if I am now partnerless. It was kind of weird finding out he'd married Stella, but for some reason I didn't even care. 

"Why'd Vecchio leave?" I'd asked Frannie a day or so after I returned to the 27th. 

She got a really weird look on her face "Well, he retired. Wanted some time to find himself after the whole undercover thing." 

I can get behind that. Heck I took six months off to bum around in Canada didn't I? "Yeah, but what about his job? I don't know him that well, but Frase said he was a good cop." 

"He was." She said. "But well..." hesitation again. 

"Come on, Frannie spit it out already." 

"HemarriedStellaandmovedtoFlorida." It came out in a bit of a rush. 

It took me a while to process that line in my head. "Oh." I said. 

Frannie was still looking at me warily. 

"Well, I hope he can make her happy." I'd said, scratching at my jaw. I glanced at Frannie and added, "Coz I'd hate to have to go and kick him in the head." 

I didn't mean it, of course, but it made Frannie stop looking as if I needed a shrink or something. Although maybe I did. Stella just...didn't hurt anymore. There was some nostalgia certainly. I missed the good times we'd had. But somehow it was almost as if I'd got...perspective on the whole relationship. The times it didn't work, the years I spent trying when it was really beyond hope. I was glad that I'd been able to put her behind me - finally - but I did wonder why. The switch from desire and possessiveness to apathy and nostalgia seemed too extreme to be mere perspective. 

Geez, now I'm starting to _think_ in Fraserwords. 

Frannie took the file with a "thanks" and I was left alone with my thoughts again. 

* * *

I'm...in Canada. Home. I chuckle, mirthlessly. It still feels odd. Not quite home at all. Or maybe too much like one. I don't know. It almost seems that the happiest times of my life - in retrospect of course - have been when I was homeless. In exile. In Chicago. Whether I knew it or not - and at the time it was probably not - I made a life for myself there. I had friends and connections. I have been posted in Inuvik with a promotion to Corporal, and Maggie's here of course. But...I miss Ray. And while I do know that I can tell him anything, I'm not sure that this is something I _should_ tell him. Ray will have moved on in life. I should try to move on too. 

*Dear Ray,* 

I pick up my pen and continue to write. 

_I'm sorry I haven't written earlier, but there hasn't been much of interest up here of late. I have received a promotion to Corporal and have been posted in Inuvik. I'm sure you remember it from the Quest. Maggie's here, which has made the transition much easier, and I admit it was one of the reasons I requested this posting. It is much easier to adjust to life in a new place when one knows someone else in the community..._

* * *

So Elaine's been working with her partner from the academy, Harold - we call him Harry of course. They're not officially detectives, but we're a bit short staffed, and really I think Elaine should qualify anyway. She's sharp. But they haven't found anyone that'd work with me yet. Gone through two partners already: Jenny Marsh and Calvin Gustafson, good cops both of them, but we just didn't get along. Fraser's spoilt me for other partners, I realise that now. I simply can't seem to get that level of understanding - the automatic whatsit...psychic bond. Shit, that sounds like sappy chick talk. But I miss the way he always knew what I was thinking, and I knew what he was thinking. Even if it did drive me up the wall sometimes when we stopped communicating. But I can't blame him for that really. I like to think it made me a better person - no I know it made me a better person. Benton Fraser gave me something to believe in, something that made every bizarre way he risked my life worth it. Heck, who can stand on a `pirate' ship, talk about the ghosts of dead sailors at the bottom of Lake Superior and not sound stupid? Fraser, that's who. 

I've been working with Huey and Dewey as they've been moonlighting at the 27th. They're on part time for a while, at least until we get another detective or three. They're not doing too badly at the Comedy Club, but they're not doing as well as they'd like either. So they help out, and I must admit it's good to have them around. That way things haven't changed too much. Sometimes I almost forget that Fraser's somewhere up in the big white north and I half expect him to come into the bullpen with Dief. I always feel a trifle crestfallen when I remember he didn't return to Chicago. But like I said, I'm happy he's in Canada. I'm _happy_ that he's happy. 

Sure Kowalski, maybe if you keep telling yourself that you'll eventually believe it. 

So now I'm stuck in the 27th in Chicago with twice as many cases from being partnerless and no Mountie to shield me from the damn paperwork. My best friend's gone to live in Canada and my ex-wife just married the cop I've been covering for the last two years and moved to Florida. Well, Stanley Raymond Kowalski, this is your life. It sucks. Ain't that grand? 

The whole liaison thing's sorta on hold. It's an option I guess, but I know from the quest that no Mountie's ever going to compare to Fraser. Canadians are more relaxed than Americans, and people in the Northwest Territories are even polite, but Toronto or Vancouver aren't that different to Chicago really. Fraser's a freak even among Canadians. A good freak - hell, a great freak, but he's still different. Any Mountie that came down to liase would have some fucking huge granny boots to fill. And as far as I'm aware no-one has come to fill them. I've driven past the consulate occasionally, seen the new Mounties out front playing toy soldier. There are certainly still ties between the 27th and the Consulate. It's just that we aren't that close anymore. They didn't send over a constable to help us on cases, and I - we - didn't run to them for asylum when the going got tough. Not that it did, but well, you know. Those days were in the past. I suppose it didn't help that now everywhere contained memories though. 

_We are in a park in the middle of downtown Chicago, Ray._

_I'll accept an IOU._

_An IOU on air?_

_Thank you kindly, Ray._

"Kowalski!" By the looks of half the bullpen and the tone of his voice I guess the Lieu's been standing there awhile. 

"Yeah?" 

"My office. Now." 

Oh shit, what did I do this time? 

"Have a seat detective." 

I sink wordlessly into a sofa as Welsh sits back down behind his desk, sweeping his eyes over me with his cop look. I look away. 

"Are you all right detective?" 

"I'm fine, Sir." I say, not looking up. 

"Are you sure? Kowalski, if you need some time off..." 

"I said I'm fine." I snap, an edge creeping into my voice. 

"Kowalski, you've been moping around for months..." 

"It's just the case." I say. It's a stupid excuse, I know. It isn't the Lester case at all. That's over, and it only took me about three days to solve. A theft gone wrong and an almost dead store clerk with partial amnesia, nothing epic. 

Welsh gives me another searching look but lets the matter drop. "In any case, Detective, the Canadian Consulate has advised me that they are interested in resuming the liaison program and given your previous experience with Constable Fraser I'd like you to go speak with them about that. I'll be partnering you with the new Liaison Officer." 

"What?" 

"You don't have a partner, Kowalski and you've worked with Canadians before." Welsh says mildly. "Is there some problem I'm not aware of?" 

I grit my teeth "No, Sir." 

"I'll tell Inspector Greaves to expect you after lunch tomorrow then. I'm aware that Constable Fraser's Chicago exploits have become something of a legend in the RCMP and I want you to make sure that our new liaison officer understands the nitty gritty detail of our work." 

I nod, "Is that all, Lieutenant?" 

"It is detective." 

I turn to leave. 

"Oh, Kowalski?" 

"Yes, Sir?" 

"Get some rest. You look like shit." 

"I'm _fine_ , Sir." I practically growl as I turn and leave, fists clenched. 

So I pull the GTO into what I considered `my' parking space from when Fraser was around and nod at the Mountie playing statue...and there's a bang as something slams into my back, knocking me off my feet and I'm falling down towards the consulate steps. Another bang and something hits my shoulder. It hurts like fuck and I'm down, cold and freezing, yet burning. There are hands pulling me up and half carrying me towards the consulate. I turn my head and see Red Serge... the door opens, another bang and I fall through the door, the Mountie falling on top of me. I'm having trouble breathing, and the man feels so damn heavy, and... 

* * *

End Returning - Prologue by Rathful Matt:

Author and story notes above.


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